


Burnt Cereal

by OkamiShadou98



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Humor, Light Angst, Spuffy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkamiShadou98/pseuds/OkamiShadou98
Summary: Dawn needs Spike's help with cooking a surprise breakfast for Buffy. Sounds easy. He just has one question though - how does one make a pancake? Set early Season Six





	Burnt Cereal

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot starts out a little angsty but dives headfirst into the humor after. For anyone who has ever cooked pancakes, this fic might alarm you. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Spike.”

The voice, tinged with the plaintive whining only achievable by teenage girls, was not enough to pierce through the foggy veil of sleep that surrounded the vampire’s mind. His brow furrowed slightly but otherwise he continued to sleep, sprawled out on his back across the bed as though he had been thrown there. One arm was extended straight up, pointing towards the headboard, while the other was tossed over his face, hiding his eyes. The blanket was twisted around his hips, bare feet poking out at uncomfortable angles. 

“Spike.” 

A shrill edge had entered the teen’s voice, a tone any parent would realize signaled danger. Spike however, being neither a woman nor a mother, continued to sleep. 

Yet not even he could ignore being smacked in the head with a pillow.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a growl issued from behind bared teeth as he sat up sharply, brain still muddled even as he kicked out at the blurry figure standing at the end of the bed. His instincts screamed danger and he was on his knees, ready to pounce, when a familiar scent caught his attention. 

“Dawn?” he asked, blinking rapidly to clear his sight.

Standing before him, and looking thoroughly unimpressed by his display, was the youngest member of the Summers clan. 

“God you sleep like the dead.” she said. “Seriously, I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last five minutes. Aren’t vampires supposed to have super senses?”

He blinked, the last remnants of sleep fading as his brain played catch up. “Well I apologize for inconveniencing you.” he remarked dryly, casting around for the small clock he kept by the bed.

In doing so, he became aware of two rather important facts. Number one, he was naked save for the thin white blanket pooling around his waist and two, that blanket was also slipping -

Grasping the material, he yanked it up until it reached the bottom of his chin, hiding himself from view. A million scenarios raced through his mind, most of them ending with Buffy staking him for “scarring” her younger sister.

“Dawn I’m starkers!” he growled indignantly. 

She rolled her eyes. “How was I supposed to know?” she asked. “Besides, I didn’t see anything important.”

He did not like the way she was stressing her words. A part of him recognized that she was only teasing but a larger part, the piece that looked at her like family, could simply not comprehend such innuendos coming out of her mouth.

“Get upstairs so I can change and then you’ll tell me why you’re here.” he said tersely. 

Only once she was safely in the upper level of the crypt did he chance removing the blanket and getting out of bed. Thankfully, he had left his clothes from yesterday in a pile nearby. Changing quickly into his jeans and signature black tee shirt, he climbed up the ladder and found Dawn sat in his armchair, waiting.

“Okay Niblet, we’re settin’ some ground rules. You can visit anytime you want but not when I’m sleepin’. If it’s an emergency, fine. But otherwise, you call ahead or somethin’. Got it?” he asked.

She nodded sheepishly. “I didn’t even think about it. Whenever you stayed over after Buffy… well, whenever you stayed over, you always slept in your clothes.”

“Cause it wasn’t my house but this crypt is and I do as I please here.” he sighed, wishing he did not have to give her this sort of talk. This kind of thing was meant for fathers, not chipped vampires who had attachment issues. “I’d never do anythin’ to hurt you but that’s not true of every bloke. Some men… they can’t control themselves.”

Her eyes widened at the implication and he tried to ignore the bite of guilt he felt as her face fell. It was so rare to see a smile from her lately. Approaching the chair, he squatting so they were essentially eye to eye.

“I’m not tryin’ to scare you yeah? Just want to make sure you understand so nothin’ bad happens. You’re a beautiful girl.”

She snorted, face haunty. “Yeah right. None of the guys at school even talk to me. I’m not pretty.”

The conviction in her voice startled him. Did she honestly believe that rot?

“Dawn.” he said quietly, looking directly into those miserable eyes. “You are beautiful. Just like your mum.” He could tell she was going to interrupt and continued hastily, “You may not have the same hair color but your eyes are the same shape. You’ve got the same smiles, dimples included. And no one can deny you have her attitude too. So what if some pillock can’t see that? They’re not worth your time if the only thing that interests them is looks.”

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears by the time he had finished. Without warning, she launched herself off the chair and hugged his kneeling form, trembling hard. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, much as he had done in the months after Buffy’s… 

“I-I miss her.” she gasped, face pressed into his neck.

“So do I.” he murmured. “Your mum always treated me right, even when I didn’t deserve it. She was a remarkable woman and she raised remarkable children.”

Dawn leaned back and he released her, getting to his feet and then helping her up. Sensing she wanted a moment to compose herself, he wandered over to the fridge and retrieved a jar of blood. By the time he had drained it, Dawn was in control again, though her cheeks were still blotchy.

“So, why did you come all the way here and wake me up?” he asked, leaning against the sarcophagus. “It’s damn early, I only got a fews hours of sleep.”

“It’s only eight.” she said, double checking her wristwatch. “But I guess for you that’s, like, being woken up at one in the morning. I came over to ask for a favor actually.”

“A favor?” he cocked his head. “Like homework or somethin’?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. You probably don’t remember… I mean, why would you? But today’s… I just wanted to do something special and I didn’t know who else to ask because everyone’s so busy nowadays but I thought…”

Spike’s head was spinning, an impressive feat considering how much of Drusilla’s drivel he had survived through. He held up his hands and Dawn broke off her flustered explanation.

“Pet, I have absolutely no idea what you’re sayin’.”

She flushed. “Today’s… well, it’s National Siblings Day.”

“It’s… er, what?”

“National Siblings Day. Y’know, like Mother’s Day but for siblings. And I wanted to make Buffy breakfast but I suck at cooking and everyone is too busy to help me anyway so I thought maybe you could help me instead.” she said hopefully, bouncing on her heels.

National Siblings Day? What a load of rubbish. He did not say that aloud though, seeing as Dawn was so excited about it. Instead he felt a rush of resentment for the other Scoobies. Buffy had only… only… oh bollocks! She’d only been back for a few weeks and already everyone seemed to have forgotten about Dawn and moved on with their lives. 

“Isn’t your sister up already?” he asked.

“She patrolled way late and gets up really late on the weekends. I think she has trouble sleeping at night.” That smile was in danger of disappearing again.

“Course I’ll help you though ‘m not sure how Buffy will take me bein’ ’round.” 

Buffy’s resurrection had done little to temper her feelings towards him. If anything, she had become even less tolerant if that was possible. He only ever ventured near her to hang around Dawn. Otherwise, he stayed well clear, as much as it pained him to do so.

“I don’t care how she feels about it.” Dawn said definitely. “The whole time she was gone, you were there for me. Not Xander, not Willow, and not Giles. They were too busy feeling guilty. At least they all had someone. I didn’t. Buffy was my family and then she left, just like mom. You stayed though and now you’re my family now so Buffy can just deal with it.”

Arms crossed, brow raised as if daring him to contract her, he saw the fire that had been so clearly missing. It oozed from her, the defiance of a warrior. His stomach warmed at her admission that he was family, a rush of affection causing his lips to twitch into a smile.

“Family are we? In that case, how could I possibly refuse? I’ll grab my coat and we’ll take the sewers back home.”

“Sewers?” her nose wrinkled in distaste as she followed him back into the lower level.

“Yeah. How else did you think I was gettin’ back to your house?” he asked, pulling on the duster and setting off confidently towards the sewer entrance.

“But these shoes are new.” Dawn whined halfheartedly though she followed him anyway into the gloom. 

\-------

Dawn climbed out of the manhole cover first and hurried to the front door, unlocking it. Going back to the hole, she called down for Spike, looking around nervously for approaching cars.

Spike sprang out of the ground, collar of his duster pulled high to hide his face as he sprinted for the front door. Wrenching it open, he peeled inside, thankful his clothes were hardly even smoking. Dawn appeared a moment later, having replaced the manhole cover.

“I hate doing that.” she complained, taking off her shoes and setting them by the door.

Spike secretly agreed, feeling the water that had collected in his boots from their little trip. Pulling them off gingerly, he also took off his soaked socks and, unsure where else to put them, chanced opening the door and leaving them outside on the porch to dry.

Dawn had disappeared upstairs and he waited in the foyer for her, no longer feeling comfortable enough to wander through the house. 

Nothing had changed since Buffy’s return, aside from a few pieces of furniture which had ended up broken, but somehow everything felt cooler, less lived in. The warmth had been choked out of the place, as if no one lived there at all. 

After Buffy’s death, he had spent nearly every evening babysitting Dawn. The others had taken up the patrolling, deciding he was not to be trusted with such an important task. He would show up at dusk and the Scoobies would head out without so much as a word. 

Those first few weeks after the funeral, there had been a sort of routine. He would help Dawn with her homework. She would cry. They would do the dishes. He would cry. They would watch television and both cry. Inconsolable, the only refuge they could find were each other, the outsiders of the group. Dawn alone had understood that his feelings towards Buffy were not obsession and while he had only shed a few tears in her presence before getting control of himself, she had offered as much support as he had to her. 

Before long, the tears had been replaced by more amusing tasks. He taught her how to play and cheat at poker and some self defense. She made him watch every episode of Dawson Creek until he was all caught up and they could enjoy the current season together and taught him all she knew about teen fashion.

Dawn came trotting back down the stairs, breaking his reminiscing.

“Buffy’s still asleep so we’re in the clear.” she led the way to the kitchen.

“What are we makin’?” he asked curiously.

She pulled out two aprons, both covered in flowery print. “First, we need aprons.”

“Vampires don’t wear aprons.” he protested, eyeing the material with distaste.

Her eyes narrowed. “Vampires in this house do.”

Sighing, he took off his coat and accepted one of the aprons. Putting it on, he wrapped the strings around and tied them in the front in a simple knock. Dawn watched with approval as he complied so easily to her demand.

“Okay, I was thinking we should make pancakes and eggs and home fries.” she said confidently, pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. 

“You know how to make all that?” he asked.

Having grown up in an age where men did not cook, and his subsequent vampirism, Spike had not done much cooking in his life. He could make very very basic things like toast… or soup from a can but otherwise… how did a gas stove even work?

“I’ve seen my mom and Buffy do it before.” Dawn said with much more confidence than Spike currently felt.

“What should I do?” he asked, watching with growing alarm as she placed more and more ingredients on the counter top.

“Can you make the pancakes? I’ll start on the home fries.” she collected a few potatoes and retreated to the sink to wash them.

“Er, right.”

Approaching the counter, he looked over the ingredients critically. Pancakes needed eggs and flour, that much he knew. Dawn had left out a metal bowl for him and some measuring spoons so he gathered these up and decided to start with the flour. He was not sure how much flour was required for a pancake but half a cup for each sounded reasonable. 

“How many pancakes did you want?” he asked.

“Maybe a dozen? It’s just the three of us. Willow and Tara have some college fair thing they’re at all day.”

Okay. So that would be six cups of flour… maybe eight to be safe. Dumping the required amount into the bowl, it looked a little underwhelming. He added a bit more until it looked like enough and moved on to the eggs.

“Aren’t you supposed to do dry and wet ingredients separately?”

Dawn shrugged, frowning. “I’m not sure. What difference does it make though? They all end up together in the end right?”

Which sounded perfectly reasonable to him. Picking up an egg, he tried to crack it against the edge of the bowl like he had seen on those cooking shows. The first few hits did not so much as crack the white surface. Maybe he was not doing it hard enough.

Splat. 

Well, at least the yolk was out though his intended target had not been the counter. He tried to scoop the yolk up with his hands but it kept slipping out and wiggling, the membrane sucking it back to the counter. Frustrated, he decided to clean it up later.

Taking another egg out of the carton, he was more successful with cracking it and got the yolk into the bowl. He added another five, figuring the batter needed to be wet and the eggs would do that.

“Don’t forget the milk.” Dawn said from where she was cutting the potato, skin still on.

Oh milk too? Maybe he had added too many eggs. The idea of fishing them out, however, did not appeal to him. He would just add a little extra of everything to compensate then. Pouring in a quarter gallon of milk, he threw in even more flour and looked down at his creation.

It had to be mixed. What did one mix with?

Looking around, he found an electric hand mixer on a shelf. He had never used one before but it did not look that hard. It had just two buttons, only an idiot could mess that up.

Plugging it in, he set the device to high. The higher the setting, the quicker it mixed right?

The blades whirled to life, buzzing loudly as they spun. Positioning the device over the bowl, he plunged it into the mess.

Everything went alright for about half a second. Then, a spray of flour, eggs, and milk hit him directly in the face. The concoction flew everywhere, hitting the cabinets and ceiling. Trying to rub the mess out of his eyes, Spike’s free hand hit the bowl and set it crashing to the floor. He felt the eggs ooze between his bare toes, the flour caking as it mixed with the milk. 

Fumbling with the mixer, he managed to turn it off while still blind. A towel was pushed into his hand and he gratefully used it to clean off his face. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he found Dawn staring at him, half of her own face and hair covered in the failed pancake batter. She took in the mess wide eyed.

Looking around, he winced. Eggs were dripping from the ceiling and cabinets. Flour had reached every corner, settling over the partially cut potatoes and even the sink. He was still standing in the mess, the batter thick and sticky. 

“What did you do?” Dawn whispered.

“I didn’t do anythin’.” he protested. “The damn mixer must be on the fritz.”

“Look at this mess. Look at us!” she was torn between amusement and despair.

Reaching up, he checked his hair, alarmed to find his curls bouncing free despite the liberal amount of goop resting in it.

“Good thing I wore the apron. Kept the mess right off.” he deadpanned.

Dawn’s eye twitched. Reaching down calmly, she plucked a handful of the batter from the kitchen island and flung it at his chest. He lept back to avoid it, feet squelching as he pulled them free of the mess. 

“Watch it!” he yelped, ducking as she threw another handful at him.

Reaching behind him, he scooped up the forgotten egg yolk and rushed her, squeezing it until it popped over her hair. Immediately, the two dissolved into chaos, throwing anything within reach at one another.

The milk gallon hit the floor at some point, potato bits floating in the mess after Dawn flung the pieces at him. Sugar joined the fray, as did some of the vegetables intended for the omelet. They slipped and slid over the floor, just managing to keep their balance as they proceeded to completely trash the kitchen.

Dawn had just gotten some of her now mashed potatoes down the back of Spike’s shirt when they heard a sound that made them both freeze, dripping food. From somewhere upstairs, an alarm clock was ringing.

The two shared a horrified look, eyes bugging as they heard the bed springs creak and someone turn off the alarm clock.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy was glad she had set the alarm clock. She had spent so much time away from Dawn lately between patrolling and hiding in her room that she had decided today they could sit down for a little and talk. 

Getting to her feet, she swore she could hear something downstairs. Reasoning Dawn must already be up, she left her room and descended the stairs.

“Dawn?” she called.

A banging noise came from the kitchen and she frowned. 

“Dawnie?” she said again, stepping into the kitchen. “What’s…”

The sight that met her would probably be imprinted in her brain until she died for the third time. The kitchen was an absolute disaster.

Food covered the ceiling, the cabinets, the curtains, the floor. Everything. Rivets of milk were trailing down the tile grout lines lazily, floating bits of things in the tiny river.

Raising her eyes, she finally zeroed in on the two guilty criminals staring at her apprehensively. 

Dawn’s hair was dripping egg, one half of her face covered in… was that mashed potatoes? Beside her was Spike, his hair standing up in a curly mess despite the gunk caked in it. Flour coated his face and arms, making him look even paler than usual. Both of them were wearing aprons, not that it made any difference. Their clothes were disgusting and most likely ruined.

“What the hell happened?” she asked dumbly, not able to take in the pure magnitude of the mess that had been created.

“We made you breakfast.” Dawn said quietly. 

“Huh?”

Dumbly, Spike pointed to the kitchen island. “I helped.” he added, a tad shell shocked.

And there, amongst broken celery stalks and a mushed stick of butter, was a bowl half filled with cereal and milk with a spoon sat beside it.

“Happy National Siblings Day.”


End file.
